That’s more like it.
Arthur Ross Cradock, a 48-year-old orchard worker, admitted in the Nelson District Court yesterday to the charge of using a phone for a fictitious purpose, after calling police with the message, “I’ve been raped by a wombat”.
It is my ambition to be charged with this offense someday.
Update (Fri 4th). This guy is my new hero.
Plastered all over the front page of today’s Age (and understandably so, for tis verily the story of the year):
POCKET MONEY LINK TO DRUG USE BY TEENAGERS
Illicit drug use by Australian schoolchildren is more common among those with the most pocket money, according to new research.
In other explosive headline news: breakthrough study uncovers link between teen pregnancy and teen sex.
A commemorative national holiday may be in order, ah wreckon.
Here’s to certainly at least one more year of.. whatever the hell kind of fuckery this is.
(A year ago. Two years ago. Three years ago.)
So there I was, attending an uncivilised picnic in the park on Royal Parade, having a perfectly nice time & minding my own and a select handful of other peoples’ business when who should call me completely out of nowhere on my – which is to say, someone else‘s – mobile telephony device but the J-meister.
We hadn’t spoken in the voice since November, when I drunkenly and unsolicitedly facilitated her and Henley‘s first ever verbal exchange. She’s been in the country three weeks, apparently. Now she & the H-Dogg were in my hood. And they wanted to hang.
The tone of her voice didn’t make me feel like something she’d just scraped off her shoe, which was nice. So, throwing caution to the wind as I am wont to do on occasion, I went.
We met at Alia. We talked. We danced. A good time was had. It seems like we’re all friends now. Which is totally what I wanted, although if you’d asked me twelve hours ago I’d have said this outcome seemed less likely than [insert comedy incredibly unlikely occurrence which in practice will never ever happen here]. They’re totally coming to my housewarming and shit.
I don’t know what else to say about all of this, but if ever something seemed blogworthy etc.
Hooray for drugs; hooray for Jebus.
Despite my cynicism regarding his religion(s), I am a fan of the man’s work. That cunt was liable for nothing.
Filed under Benevolence, Boogie Fever, Damage Control, Discombobulation, Dreams, Drugs, Here Is The News, Liable For Nothing, Life Is Good, Newness, People, Signs Of The Apocalypse, silly humans *rolls eyes* etc, The World Is A Disco Ball, What Kind Of Fuckery Is This
I love my sister, so much.
Go read them. I got nothin’. Except an interminably unclearable email backlog. (Plus ca change etc.)
And, I guess, the news that after two years of global trekkage, an older, worldly-wiser Toots aka babysis is coming home today! To my home (ie Melbourne)!
Can you say “I’m fucking excited”? Coz I surely can.
No camera = no pictures + very low commentage levels = just got nothin’. Sorry.
It’s all about F***book right now, anyways. If you want me, friend me on FB. If you want to know my FB name, write me.
I am well, and having a lovely time.
More TK when the moment is propitious. Please stay tuna etc.
Okay – the liability for mess thing? This thing? Totally figured it out. Mess can be made liability neutral. Gab and I are cleaning up mess right now and WE. ARE. HAVING. A. BLAST. We seriously are.
We will be slightly sad when the mess is gone, because there will be no more mess to not be liable for, and shit. But that’s okay; we’ll find something else to do.
Liable for nothing.
*eye contact* etc
*very long pause*